


Lights in the Night Sky

by Etienne_Lennon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etienne_Lennon/pseuds/Etienne_Lennon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam and Dean were kids, Dean would tell Sam a comforting lie. Years later, Sam would like to believe in that lie again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights in the Night Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, none of this is mine.  
> The story was inspired by the song Airplanes, by B.O.B.  
> There is nothing explicitly slashy going on whatsoever but hey, the mind is a free country, so make of this what you like.

The night was cold. Colder than Dean had anticipated and, apparently, colder than John had anticipated as well. 

Usually, their dad made made it a point to put them up in a Motel rooms on cold nights and drive alone if he needed to get a job done. That night however, he needed to go somewhere and fast. Despite the cold, despite the broken heat and despite his two sons in the back of the Impala, covered in blankets and their jackets. 

Dean was eight, old enough to be told about his Dad's job about the hunts he'd undertake. Old enough to never forget to draw a salt line when he was alone with his brother.  
He knew they were heading into the wilderness, that Dad would put them up in a cabin with a friend and then go hunt something black and evil and swift as a shadow.

And Dean was scared. He was always scared for his dad. But he knew he couldn't indulge that feeling. Because the man in the front seat was not his responsibility. His responsibility was a small warm bundle of skin and bones and warm breath that was huddled in a blanket next to him. And somehow, magically, when the bundle woke up and opened curious gray eyes, it would turn into his brother.

„Dean?“ Sam's voice was soft. 

They usually didn't speak much while riding in the car with John. 

Mostly they would listen to music, music that had sounded loud and aggressive and slightly unsettling to Dean for a long time but which he now loved as part of all this, his father, the Impala and Sam.  
Tonight the car was quiet though, which usually meant John was either lost in thoughts of the past or focusing on the hunt to come.

„Dean, I can't sleep. It's cold“. Sam's voice was still soft but Dean could hear his concern. Sam was used to not complaining. He was four and understood enough of their world to know that soldiers don't cry and complain.

„It's okay, Sammy. I know it's cold but it's not that bad. Come here.“ Dean offered the space under his blanket and Sam cuddled against him like the trusting puppy he could be sometimes. 

Now Dean felt warmer as well. He felt like he'd be asleep soon with his brother as his safety blanket and the purring of the engine as his lullaby.

But Sam seemed restless. Though he wasn't moving or talking, Dean could tell from the rhythm of his breathing that his brother was not asleep.

It had been a tough week. John had been gone for days in a row and returned wounded and in a difficult mood. At that time, Sam was unable to read John's mood and though he tried not to be, sometimes he could not stop being a kid altogether. 

„Look at the stars, Sammy“ Dean offered. „If you try counting them you'll fall asleep faster.“ Sam turned his head and looked at the dark sky. It was easy to see the stars even through some pale winter clouds. Some of the lights were especially bright. They were moving fast and with a steady course.

„Are those shooting stars?“ Sam asked, as if they had talked about the lights out loud.

Dean knew they were airplanes. Airplanes full of people with a home, a destination, a family to welcome them. 

„Yes, Sammy. Yeah, they're shooting stars. You should make a wish now.“ Dean half thought that Sam would blurt out the wish that was their wish.  
That mom hadn't died. That they were still a family.

But Sam didn't say anything. Only his breathing sounded calmer than before.

***  
More than two decades later  
***

Sam had been quiet all night and Dean didn't push him. Sometimes it was like this between them. Somehow the issues that piled up like an invisible heap of garbage would just ride with them in the car, make it difficult to breathe, to move and to speak. Dean was used to it. He didn't mind. Usually he would just pump up the music at thimes like these.

Not that night though. It was by far too clear and eerie and quiet outside. Dean was not a hundred percent sure which state they were in, he was just driving, like he had for half his life. But he was following the signs up North and at some point, he would have to be careful not to hit Canada.

Sam was leaning against the window. For an outsider it might have looked like he was sleeping. But to Dean it was perfectly clear that Sam was awake and pondering something. Somehow there was always something to ponder. And with everything that had happened, it became more and more difficult for Dean to imagine, what his brother was thinking about. A short time ago, Sam had said that he was fine now. That he was really over it. Dean wasn't quite sure if Sam had only lied to him or also to himself.

“Dean?”

His name echoed softly in the car and somehow it reminded Dean of something. 

“Yes?”

“Did you tell me once that the lights in the sky were shooting stars?”

Dean looked up at the sky for a second and saw an airplane, making its way steadily through the darkness. Then the memory started seeping in vague and muted like sounds in deep snow,

“Yes, I did, that was a long time ago though, how can you remember that?”

And Sam looked at him with an intensity that Dean felt more than saw in the darkness of the car. 

“Because I could really use a wish right now.”

FIN


End file.
